


on the shoulders of giants

by Trojie



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Hair-pulling, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, bullets-era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 00:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: 1. Gerard Way/Mikey Way/Ray Toro, Hair pulling





	on the shoulders of giants

Ray has a bad habit of bouncing in his seat when he plays sitting down. He only ever means to tap his feet, but it’s like the rest of his body goes along for the ride. He can’t fucking _help_ it, man, it’s just. His body goes with the music, that’s all. 

Gerard laughs at him, that wrinkly-nose little giggle. ‘Shut up,’ Ray makes a face at him. ‘You dance in the recording booth, we’ve all seen you.’

‘Yeah, well, he doesn’t make everything in the fucking room jiggle when he dances, so cut it out, Toro,’ says Rickley. ‘From the top, okay, and stay the fuck still this time if you wanna get out of here before midnight.’

Frank, over on the sofa dicking around with his camera, is giggling too. Ray has half a mind to make the little stoner come in here and fucking lay down this line himself if he’s going to be a bitch about it. 

‘C’mon, take two, you can do this,’ says Rickley, kinder this time. 

But Ray just. Cannot. Stay still. He likes this song too much, he likes this fucking thing that they’re doing too much. He’s having too much fun to stay still, he’s not goddamn Robert Fripp, okay?

Mikey reaches out and puts a hand in Ray’s wiry fuzz of hair. 

Ray gets a clean take this time.

***

Ray tells Frank it’s an homage to the giants who went before him, the … whatever, legacy of … something, when he grows his hair out, and also he’s sick of looking like a down-on-his-luck business major who’s never been laid, and also _fuck you Iero, your dreads are gross._

Frank says, ‘you know Slash is going bald and Jimmy Page is a pretentious asshole, right?’

Ray says, ‘Brian May’s cool, though,’ and is fully prepared to give Frank a wedgie if he doesn’t immediately agree, but Frank shrugs.

‘Yeah, Brian May’s cool.’

Frank buzzes his dreads off a week later anyway. Maybe Ray’s at the forefront of the band style revolution or something. Mikey continues to use his glasses to hold down bits of his fringe over his eyes, though, so. Maybe not.

***

The end of the movie spools out into VHS fuzz - the static of the universe, grey light from the cathode tube highlighting the fact that Gerard has his jeans open and neither of them have been paying attention to the last half an hour of whatever the fuck they were watching. 

It like. It started how it always fucking starts - it’s cold down here in Gerard’s basement and after a couple of beers Ray’s less inclined to pretend he hasn’t just sorta shoved his hands between his thighs for insulation, and after another beer it’s less like keeping warm and more like it’s just nice to rest his palm on his own dick. 

Beside him, Gerard shifts, and then shifts again, and Ray isn’t _looking_ but he looks, y’know? To see what - and Gerard has his hand down his jeans. 

His eyes are always big and dark but in the movielight they’re bigger and darker. He licks his lips. 

Ray looks back at the movie, face hot.

‘Been a while,’ Gerard mutters. 

‘Yeah.’

And here they are, again. Jerking off six inches apart on Gerard’s bed, two awkward nerds who never have any luck picking up. But getting off is just better with company, Ray always thinks. That’s all. It’s not like they touch each other. Or look. 

Much. 

Not like. Deliberately. 

Ray tucks his hand around himself and breathes into it. 

Neither of them usually takes long, just a few bitten off sighs, a stifled grunt maybe, and a mess contained in the clothes they don’t take off, and then whoever finishes first gets up to rewind the tape, pretending they’re not blushing.

This time, something’s not working right for Ray, and Gerard’s the lucky winner, groaning through bitten lips. Ray’s jealous. He curls up around himself, trying, really fucking trying, to get this over with, because it’s okay to have this be something they do together on the quiet, but it’s pragmatic, okay? It’s not supposed to be something Ray lingers over. 

Curling up heels his body over, and - and fuck, that’s Gerard’s sweaty thigh Ray’s head comes down on. 

‘Fuck - sorry -‘

Gerard’s voice is thick and fucked-over when he says ‘hey, no, you’re fine, you’re good -‘ and his hand lands in Ray’s hair. 

Ray _whimpers_. Gerard’s fingers tighten —

— and Ray’s barely gasped himself done before the overhead light suddenly comes on in a violent rush. 

‘Shit,’ Ray swears, hunching up like an armadillo in a hurry to stuff his dick back in his pants before whoever it is sees.

It’s Mikey, completely unsurprisingly. He throws himself down on the bed and says, ‘fucking late shifts, I swear to god. What are we watching?’

Gerard gets up and ejects the tape they just finished, and shrugs. ‘Whatever you want.’

There’s colour riding high on his cheeks. To Ray, the place stinks of sweat and sex, which is unfair given no-one had any. Hopefully Mikey’s sinuses are too atrophied from years of abuse to tell. He doesn’t seem to care even if he can smell it - just does like he always does, and crawls up the middle of the bed to lean into Ray’s side.

The orgasm has left Ray sloppy and cuddly - they always do. He misses the name of Mikey’s pick of movie, because he’s too busy arranging himself to nap on Mikey’s shoulder, a much more important mission. 

He falls asleep with Mikey idly petting him, thin hands fiddling with the curls that are just now long enough to bob into Ray’s face when he lies down. They get in his eyes a little, but Mikey cards them away over and over, until Ray falls asleep. 

***

Gerard yells at the crowd about buying t-shirts. That’s normal. 

Gerard yells about buying CDs, which they have on the table at the back for the very first time, and Ray’s so fucking happy he can’t help bouncing as he moves around the stage. Mikey’s laughing at him silently, which is the best, just the fucking best, because it means he’s not scared tonight, he’s having fun. Ray wishes Mikey had fun more often up on stage, he really does. 

Frank’s already basically flat on his back on the floor, the stage floor, doing things to his guitar no guitar should ever have done to it, the weird little shit. Ray kind of loves him and also kind of wants to turn a cold hosepipe on him, but that’s Frank for you. 

The light in here is red red red red red and Gerard catches Ray’s eye and knows what he wants. 

‘This song,’ Gerard announces, ‘is off our new album,’ and then they’re jumping, crowd and band. 

And Ray cannot keep still any longer, and he can’t stay away from Gerard, either, it’s like gravity and tides and other things he can’t fight. He collapses in on Gerard for all the _we’ll fly home_ s and Gerard wraps his arm around Ray’s head and tugs on his fluffy mop of hair. 

Happiness runs down Ray’s spine. Happiness and heat. And sweat. He kisses Gerard’s neck sloppily and gets another yank for his reward. 

Ray fucking kills it, all the rest of the night. 

And after they’ve shut the back of the van up and they’re on the freeway home, Mikey murmurs in his ear, ‘get Otter to drop you off with me and Gee, okay?’


End file.
